When we make it back to the kitchen, Sam watches every move Sniffer makes with a small, sad smile. As we prepare the food, I try and keep everyone engaged, and it seems to work. By the time I put the meatballs and gravy in the oven, everyone seems much more relaxed. I’ve looked at the clock every five minutes, wondering when I’ll hear from Masen.

Sam’s phone rings and he disappears when he answers. Sniffer’s sad face returns, and I know he’s jealous. I just don’t know if he’s worried about losing his best friend or something more. I keep him busy peeling potatoes, and I start the water for egg noodles for anyone who doesn’t like mashed potatoes. Mac sets the table, and Sam returns with a vibrant smile on his face just before the oven timer chimes.

Everyone looks up when we hear cars speeding up the drive. Mac’s voice is grim when he says, “Sophia, head to your bedroom, and lock the door”

“Wait. It’s okay. That’s Mase’s truck,” Sniffer says, rushing back from checking the windows.

“Are you sure, Cass? That’s more than one car. Maybe she should go just in case.”

Too late now, the door slams open. Someone groans. “Fuck, it smells good in here. Please tell me she made enough for everyone?” Sid’s pleading makes me let out a nervousness giggle which causes Mac to start chuckling.

“No, you bastards, get out of here. We’ve been cooking since you left. It’s all ours. Damn, how many people are with you? No, no, you all need to go!” Sniffer’s face looks genuinely panicked. I’m scanning the men and waiting for Masen, so I reach over and rub Sniffer’s forearm.

“It’s fine, really. I made almost ten pounds of meatballs,” I say, trying to comfort him.

Masen is the last to enter the room, and he doesn’t look happy. “I made the mistake of saying I was coming home to eat when all these assholes” —he looks at the four extra men in the room in disgust— “decide they want to come.” His eyes laser to Sniffer. “Apparently, Cass doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, so everybody wants my food,” he gripes.

I’m so happy he’s home. I laugh at the absurdity of him worrying about food. “Well, is it over? How’d it go?” I ask eagerly.

Masen’s eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head. “No, Little One, they were gone. Which can only mean one of three things. Rob and Jeff are lying, they panicked when they didn’t return tonight, or the worst of the three, someone from my Pack warned them we were coming,” he says grimly. I can feel his distress.

“Well, let’s set five more plates, and you can tell me about what you found after you eat. Go wash up, boys.” Like a group of teenagers, they all push and shove to get to the bathroom first. I lead Masen to the kitchen sink, so he can wash his hands. “Do you want noodles or mashed potatoes with your meatballs, Masen?”